


Trembling on the Vine

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Why Did I Write This?, reasons I shouldn't own The Mentalist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s now damaged and now broken and now a victim; helplessly lying in wait, until her captor returns to make her suffer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trembling on the Vine

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. I also wrote this using my hurt/comfort bingo card, just because I can. In case you haven't seen the warnings: there is a rape/non-con theme in this piece.

In the tiniest, dingiest room known to man—Kim Fischer loses a part of her soul. Her wrists are raw and red, her face black and blue and his sharp aftershave burns at her nostrils, trigging a coiling fear in the pit of her stomach that paralyzes her. 

She’s never wanted to be a victim, but life happens. The unavoidable truth, she believes, is that the universe has to balance itself out. After all, how many killers and rapists and terrorists could one person put away, before any of them got even? 

Kim wants to rationalize with herself, mutter some calming phrase as she’s done with every other victim—dead or alive. The words though don’t come and she tries to focus on her breathing.

She’s silent and hurting and scared, and no it’ll be okay will calm her churning stomach. She’s now damaged and now broken and now a victim; helplessly lying in wait, until her captor returns to make her suffer. 

::::

She thinks she’s always misunderstood the word suffering. She’s heard it tossed around from case to case, Agent to Agent, victim to Agent so many times to forget that suffering isn’t just about hardships of no money or not a good enough sentencing or not enough time. No, suffering is often about the amount of pain one feels, while they’re waiting to be groomed or struck or even die. 

Kim is suffering. 

She just wishes it’ll be over soon, so she doesn’t have to eventually hear or see the pity. 

::::

When his rough hands touch her skin, she likes to think she’s a balloon. With every touch and murmured slur against her bare skin, she imagines herself floating away. Higher and higher, she floats, until something suddenly brings her back down and she can’t help but sob at the cruelty of her own brain. 

She doesn’t want to come back down. She doesn’t want him inside her, polluting her insides with his every thrust and shift and load. She wants nothing more than be that balloon, so she doesn’t go through life with a stigma. 

When he’s finished, his hand pets her hair and he tells her she’s a beautiful whore. 

Kim’s not sure whether she should laugh at the irony (she’s not asking or wanting it, after all) or if she should sob at the way he tells her she’s only getting what she deserves. 

I didn’t ruin you; she thinks as she closes her eyes, you did this all to yourself. 

::::

Nobody asks to be the victim. She didn’t accept her FBI badge and weapon on the contingency that she would, one day, be saved by the very people who condemned her to a life full of countless anxieties. The sounds of yelling and weapons firing should bring a sense of relief to her, but they don’t and Kim wonders if every person she’s ever saved fears the outside world now much more than the possibility of their own death. 

She almost wishes her captor had put a bullet between her eyes, as he had threatened prior to it if she hadn’t complied. If he had, she wouldn’t be attempting to cover her swollen breasts from the view of whatever Agent was going to walk through the door and rescue her. 

No, she thinks, imaging herself dead. 

They’d burst through the door and find her lifeless body—tied to the bare mattress, dressed with piss-stains and blood and semen—and they’d say oh, poor Kim Fischer till she was buried six feet under and properly dressed again. She imagines the service and she imagines the fake eulogies and the condolences, where they dedicate a frame on the wall to her. The late and great Kim Fischer, who valiantly died long before she should have.

(She just wonders how they’d answer the how’d she die question.)

She blinks and thrashes around, irritating her wrists a little bit more with a loud cry for help. It’s completely selfish of her to wish for death when so many people have probably had it worse. She’s alive (not dead) and she’s stronger than wishing for suicide. She’s a victim, but eventually, she thinks she’ll be a survivor too. 

She has to. 

She doesn’t have any other choice.


End file.
